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JACOB H. RUBIN 


THE 

DESTRUCTION 
OF A 
NATION 


A fascinating and authentic 
account, in novel form, of the 
Great Russian debacle. 


J. H. RUBIN, Author 

Revised by VICTOR RUBIN 


Copyrighted September, 1921. 

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THE DESTRUCTION OF A NATION 

CHAPTER I 

At precisely 2 o’clock Ivan drove up to the side 
entrance of the summer mansion of General Kublytzky 
Piotuch. At precisely 2 o’clock every afternoon Ivan 
did this. The afternoon drive was an established part 
of the family routine — just like the daily lessons with 
Old Styebonsky, the tutor, the visit to Moscow during 
the opera and theater seasons, the social calls and recep- 
tions, the huge family parties. In short, it was inevitable. 

In her heart Sofia Pavlowna, only daughter of Gen- 
eral Piotuch, enjoyed those long rides in the handsome 
troika along the winding roads of the estate, then be- 
tween two rows of gracefully imposing elms to Tsarskoe 
Selo, the czar’s summer palace — though she pretended to 
be bored by them. That, however, was simply because 
she was 17 — an age when one is often quite apt to be 
more cynical than his own grandmother. 

Sofia, in fact, pretended to be bored by all the social 
duties that her position as heiress of the estate imposed. 
She was even bored, according to her description of the 
event some time afterward, when she chanced to meet 
the czar’s daughter on a ramble near the imperial palace. 
Sofia had alighted from the troika that afternoon and 
plunged into a small grove which had happened to 
strike her fancy at the moment. 

“What did I do? Simply what every Russian subject 
'would do under the circumstances,” was the way she 
related the incident to Barbara, her cousin. “The prin- 
cess graciously extended her hand and I kissed it. And 
of course I had enough presence of mind to make the 
sign of the cross.” 

The three black horses had fairly galloped to the side 
entrance, to be pulled up on their haunches by Ivan’s 
skillful rein at the last moment. It was boasted that 
Ivan could stop his team within a shorter space than 
any other person in Russia — which might as well be put, 
the world. The general’s daughter, smiling at this ex- 
hibition of skill, which never failed to invoke her admir- 
ation, stepped into the troika. 


6 


Destruction of a Nation 


“If auntie would only think about something else to 
talk about than my school work and if those cousins 
would only think about something else but fishing and 
hunting or dancing, life here might be quite tolerable, 
even satisfactory,” she thought as the horses plunged 
along the winding road. 

Two eyes staring at her from a long, dark bearded 
face suddenly startled her. The name Rasputin flashed 
into her mind, although she had never seen him before. 
The troika had slowed down while going around a bend in 
the road when the man, robed like a priest, had suddenly 
appeared a few feet away. She saw that he was tall, 
powerfully built and commanding. It was the eyes, 
though, that held her, eyes which she had often heard 
described before. 

“Halt,” the man commanded. Ivan checked his 
horses within a foot. 

“Dismount, daughter.” 

The girl leaped lightly out of the carriage, partly out 
of a spirit of adventure, partly because of the mysterious 
something in those wild eyes staring at her. The man 
extended his hand. It was the same gesture that the 
czar’s daughter had used, Sofia observed, but the hand 
was cours'e and the finger nails dirty. 

Sofia ignored the hand and stood looking at the 
wild-eyed creature before her with a half smile on her 
face. 

“You wonder why I make you dismount like that?” 
he asked.. 

Sofia nodded. 

“It is because I like to use my power. Do not smile. 
Power! I have made you dismount from your carriage. 
If I want to I can make the highest hands in Russia bow 
in the dust before me. 

“You wonder why I speak to you thus. You are a 
miserable sinner. You have earthly beauty. You have 
blue eyes and golden hair and a pink skin. You must 
learn to repent.” 

“And how am I to repent? asked Sofia, her curiosity 
piqued. 


Destruction of a Nation 7 

“Come to the Imperial Palace at once and you shall 
see! 

He put his arm on hers. 

“That is quite impossible,” said Sofia. 

Rasputin stepped back. 

\ou shall go at once,” he raged, pointing his long 
fingers at her. You will dismiss your coachman and 
walk with me!” , 

“Drive on!” cried Sofia, jumping into the troika be- 
fore the furious Rasputin could stop her. The next 
instant the horses were plunging down the road. “Back 
home, Ivan, just as quickly as you can. Turn at the 
next crossing and find another road back.”, 

When Sofia appeared flushed and trembling at the 
door fifteen minutes earlier than her usual hour for 
returning, she found her aged tutor there deep in con- 
versation with her aunt. , 

“What has happened, Sopishky?” demanded the aunt. 

“I’ve just met a snake.” , 

“I never knew the snake to frighten you before.” 

“But this was a different kind of a snake.”, 

Later when she was reciting her history lesson, she 
related her experience. Styebonsky bit his lip and 
scowled. 

“It is beasts like that,” he said, “who keep Russia in 
the dirt. He must be killed. The brute. Do you 
know what that man does?” 

Sofia confessed that she had heard stories of his myster- 
ious power over men and women and of the strange 
rites he was permitted to practise even in Tsarskoe Selo. 

“It is all true, “he said. “I tell you that the power 
of this man is a sign of the decay into which Russia has 
fallen. While the peasants and the proletariat are starv- 
ing these mighty lords spend their wealth on these orgies. 
It) is not only the wealth they spend that is so ominous.” 

He rose and began pacing nervously back and forth 
across the room. 

“It is a sign of the mental and moral decay into which 
this country has fallen. 

“One night Paul, a friend of mine, managed to ob- 


8 


Destruction of a Nation 


serve one of the rites of the strange sect that has formed 
about Rasputin. It was in this vicinity — perhaps a mile 
or two from where we are standing. Men and women 
danced about a huge bon fire. Rasputin stood in the 
middle, tall, his hypnotic eyes gleaming, murmuring 
mysterious incantations. The dance grew wilder and 
wilder. Incense was heaped into the flames. Men and 
women began embracing each other. 

“ ‘Repentence is the only road to salvation!’ Rasputin 
cried.” ‘In order to be saved you must repent and in 
order to repent you must first sin. Let us sin, therefore, 
brothers and sisters!’ There followed indescribable scenes.” 

Sofia shuddered in spite of herself. She did not know 
whether to reprove Styebonsky for his sudden outburst 
in speaking of Rasputin. Certainly it had no relation 
to her history lesson. , 

“On another occasion,” he went on, his dark eyes 
flashing, “Rasputin was heard to call the Duchess Z on 
the telephone — or rather to have his servant call her — 
and arrange a meeting for midnight. She came without 
question.” 

Sofia involuntarily drew back the hem of her skirt. 

“I see you are bored by all this,” said Styebonsky 
darkly. “What can one expect! You people are inter- 
ested in nothing but your narrow circles, your parties, 
your balls, your receptions.” 

“On the contrary,” remarked Sofia quietly. 

The conversation ended abruptly and the history' 
lesson began. 

“I wonder what father would think of your views,” 
said Sofia later, voicing a thought which she had evi- 
dently held in her mind for a long time. “He is the 
avowed enemy of all socialists while you. I suppose, 
would like to see us all blown to perdition — only you 
don’t even believe in such a place.” 

Styebonsky remained silent, but later as the study hour 
was drawing to a close, he launched into a parable. 

“Suppose,” he began, “a giant found himself in an 
ugly yard, surrounded by a high wall. Some one tells 
him that beyond the wall is a beautiful park, filled with 


Destruction of a Nation 


9 


all the good things of this life. In place of his weed- 
covered space is a place of velvet grass, tall trees and 
beautiful flowers. In place of his bowl of cabbage soup 
are delicious foods. In place of a course blouse the 
people there are all clothed in the best. The giant finds 
that the wall has been erected by himself a long time 
ago, longer ago in fact than he can remember, and that 
the master, who lives in the park, is a puny but shrewd 
man. What does he do? Naturally he seeks to de- 
stroy the wall and, in doing so, if necessary, the master 
also.” 

Sofia’s blue eyes looked puzzled. 

“Of course, I know in a way what you are driving 
at,” she said. “But I’m sure your idea of being kept 
in subjugation is all in your imagination. If it wasn’t 
for the so-called master, the working man would starve. 
And you’d soon find out that the park isn’t such a 
beautiful place after all. I am only 17 and here I am 
bored to death by all these things which you think so 
desirable.” 

“Of course,” she added illogically, “I know that our 
society is not nearly so brilliant as it was before the 
revolution of 1905. Still I don’t think that would have 
made much difference.” 

“Here you are bored with all this wealth, this inde- 
pendence,” broke in Styebonsky. “You do not appreciate 
your heritage.” 

“I do not know that it is as important as you think,” 
said Sofia. “Society is naturally divided into the rulers 
and the ruled. Those ruled are incapable of ruling even 
if they had the opportunity. At the head is the czar 
surrounded by his nobles and protecting the state with 
his army. He is the father of his family. Why should 
the children wish to set themselves over him?” 

Styebonsky shrugged his shoulders. 

“Some day I shall tell you the story of my life,” 
he said. “Then you will begin to understand something 
of the spirit that is beginning to pervade all Russia. You 
will understand why the cause of political freedom is 
so dear to me.” 


10 


Destruction of a Nation 


Styebonsky’s opportunity came soon after. A few days 
later he had decided to give a botany lecture in) the mag- 
nificient sunken garden of the estate. Sofia was delighted. 
They had scarcely seated themselves on a bench when 
Sofia reminded him of his promise to narrate the story 
of his life. For a time he hesitated, but under the spell 
of her eager eyes, he began. 

It was a sombre tale which made the girl shrink more 
than once. As the speaker became more excited with the 
life he was re-living in the telling, the girl leaned toward 
him breathlessly. She had always looked upon him as 
an eccentric individual — an old man whose life lay some- 
where back — years back and discarded like an old gar- 
ment. He wias older than her father by at least ten years. 
Now to hear of his youth, his dreams and his struggles 
affected her oddly. 

Styebonsky had been apprenticed to a mechanic in 
Odessa as a boy. By dint of reading every book he 
could get his hands on, however, he achieved a more 
thorough knowledge of history and politics than of the 
craft which his parents had chosen for him. Finally he 
managed to save enough money to pay his way through 
gymnasium. A scholarship and work of odd kinds en- 
abled him to go on through the university of Petrograd. It 
was here that he had first been thrown into contact with 
the radical social theorists. 

At first, swept away by the new vision of political 
freedom presented to him, he had believed as the Nihilists 
that every vestige of the old order must be destroyed. 
He became acquainted with the theories of Karl Marx 
and La Salle and was soon a warm follower of them. 
He became an “evolutionary socialist,” he told Sofia, one 
who believed in bringing about the Socialistic program 
gradually and logically. 

Styebonsky paused and closed his eyes, and his mouth 
trembled. Sofia put her hand on his shoulder in sympathy. 

“I was 25 when they arrested me,” he went on after 
a moment. I was sitting in my room talking with 
Petroff about an excursion into the country. There was 
not the slightest political significance in what we were 


Destruction of a Nation 


ii 


discussing. Three gendarmes and an officer suddenly 
burst into the room and immediately began searching it. 

“I asked what they wanted. The officer gave a de- 
risive laugh and said I knew well enough. Petroff and 
I sat frozen with horror. They siezed my chest, threw 
everything on the floor, threw all my books out of the 
bookcase, ripped open the mattress and stuck their swords 
into the wall behind the pictures. Finally the officer 
stooped down and picked up a little volume in red bind- 
ing. It was Spencer’s First Principles. 

“I was seized by two of the gendarmes and dragged 
to the jail. I insisted on knowing why I had been 
placed there. The sledevatil grinned and shrugged his 
shoulders as though he was not to be fooled by my ap- 
parent innocence. Later he became more friendly and 
told me that I was accused of plotting the downfall of 
the empire. It was sheer nonsense of course. 

“The trial was one of those travesties on justice that 
one finds so often in Russian courts. To make a long 
story short I was convicted of having revolutionary lit- 
erature in my possession and sentenced to Siberia for 
fifteen years. 

“But what was the evidence against you?” asked Sofia. 
“Certainly having a copy of Spencer is no reason for 
exiling one.” 

“You do not know Russian justice,” he said. “The 
book was revolutionary, not politically of course — but 
the judge, who was a little bored with it all, could not 
split hairs upon such matters. A friend of his had told 
him the book was revolutionary. It was bound in red 
cloth, for another thing. Anyhow the government spies 
knew that I had frequented radical meetings and I 
couldn’t deny that I had read revolutionary books. And 
then while the punishment might seem a little overdone 
in my case in the next case perhaps the punishment 
might be too light. So that on the whole justice was 
being done.” 

Sofia turned pale. It was the first time that a part 
of her world had been pictured like this. 


12 


Destruction of a Nation 


“How can you talk about it now like this, I mean 
so lightly?” she asked. 

Styebonsky shrugged his shoulders. 

“One becomes philosophical after undergoing what I 
have,” he reflected. “Have you ever seen a knout? I 
have felt one. When we left Odessa prison for Siberia 
on foot, there were 60 of us, io women, one about your 
age, one old enough to be your grandmother. But the 
cossacks on their horses drove us over those thousands of 
miles step by step and lash by lash. There were twenty 
of us when we reached Siberia. One day the little old 
woman fell in the snow. Her feet were bleeding. She 
was exhausted. I stopped to comfort her. I tried to 
raise her. A cossack observed me and commanded me 
to join the rest. I hesitated and — well, that is how I 
felt the knout — the first time.” 

He told of the pitiless march over the frozen steppes 
to the cruel lashings of the cossacks and with meager 
food. No clothes had been given them. Those that 
started out thinly dressed died from cold. Those who 
had been thinly shod soon wore out their shoes, then the 
rags which they tied upon their feet and then suffered 
the slow agony of having their feet freeze. He told of 
the arrival in the cheerless Siberian village and of his 
allotment to a government salt mine. Here he worked 
fourteen hours a day in an underground tunnel, up to 
his waist in water, picking at the rock salt. Each day 
he was obliged to mine a certain weight. If he failed by 
chance he was either lashed or forced to stand in cold 
water that reached to his chin. 

“It was not so bad for me. I was usually able to per- 
form my alloted task, but it was terrible for the immature, 
the old and the weak.” 

“I told you I had been an evolutionary socialist. I had 
believed in a gradual program that would return the land 
to the peasants and government ownership of the means 
of transportation and manufacture. Even a moderate 
program would have suited me. I had even no great 
animosity against the monarchial form of government. 

“But is was there, on the cold, bitter march to Siberia 


Destruction of a Nation 


13 


and in the salt mines that my rage against the government 
grew. My hard labor in the mines lasted only two years 
S.nd then, though I was still an exile, I was free to live 
m my owni way under certain restrictions. 

“There were others who felt like me and we met 
secretly at midnight, first in one hut, then in another. 
We formed a local branch of the organization which is to 
sweep all Russia.” 

Sofia, who had listened to his narrative breathlesslv, 
became thoughtful. 

“You wonder why I should tell you this,” said Stye- 
bonsky. “You could tell your father and he could have 
me arrested for trying to spread sedition. But I am tell- 
ing you because I know that the New Russia must spring 
to life out of the ashes of the old Russia through the 
younger generation, men and women. Yes, women too, 
for in the new order of things there will be no difference 
between the sexes. 

“There is another reason why I am not afraid to talk 
openly to you. Perhaps you can guess.” 

Sofia looked inquisitively at her tutor, then laughed. 

“How should I guess?” she said. 

“Boris Nelidoff has joined the party.” 

“Impossible!” 

Sofia rose and began plucking, petal by petal in her 
nervousness, the orchid which she held in her hand. It 
was one of the exotic blossoms that the general’s luxur- 
ious taste had lavished on his gardens. 

“Boris was sympathetic I knew,” she said after a mom- 
ent. “But I did not believe that he would join the party.” 

Boris Nelidoff, youngest son of the Russian foreign 
minister, was a student at the University of Petrograd 
and a few years older than Sofia. For many years there 
had been a warm friendship between the families of 
Nelidoff and Piotuch and there had existed an under- 
standing that some day Boris and Sofia were to marry. 
Boris, however, upon entering the university, had been 
thrown into the political current with such violence that 
he had become entirely wrapped in his political studies 
and ideals. 


1 4 Destruction of a Nation 

Naturally he had told Sofia something of his plans. He 
had communicated to her his discontent with the life of 
a nobleman and his intention to devote his life to some 
useful end. He had planned to settle down to his 
simple life of a peasant and to write at the same time so 
that he could spread his philosophy among others. 

“You thought because Boris was a Socialist I should 
be one too,” said Sofia. 

“Yes. At least it would make you sympathetic.” 

Sofia returned to her seat beside the old man. 

“I wish somehow he hadn’t,” she said, leaning forward 
intently. “Not at this time, anyway. War has just been 
declared and the government will be a steel rod against 
those who attack from within. Before father left for 
staff headquarters last week he had a long conference 
with the war minister. I overheard them speaking of 
the measures they must take to keep the morale of the 
people at home at its highest. But I suppose the war will 
be over in a few months.” 

Styebonsky shook his white head slowly. 

“You remember what I said about Rasputin.” 

“About his being a sign of the decay into which Russia 
was falling?” 

“Yes. I am afraid that the war will not be over so 
quickly as we think. If it is, the worse for Russia. 
Rasputin, I believe, has been seized as a tool by the 
great imperialism at Berlin. Already he has the Czarina 
completely under his influence.” 

“You believe those stories that he has saved the czar- 
evitch’s life?” asked Sofia incredulously. 

“No, but the czarina does. He has intrenched him- 
self so strongly in the court that in another six months 
Russia will be crippled.” 

“But what can we do? Certainly the mad monk him- 
self has not wit enough to play a game in which nations 
are at stake,” cried Sofia. 

“Quite true, but he is in the hands of more clever men. 
Germany has gradually reached out her hand toward 
Russia. She has sent her colonists. She has invested in 
important industries. Twenty years later it would have 


Destruction of a Nation 


i5 


been impossible to mobilize an army against her. Today 
Germany uses this mad monk as her trump card.” 

Sofia jumped to her feet, her face flushed. 

“It was a foolhardy thing to join the party,” she ex- 
claimed. “I wish I could see him.” 

“He will be here tomorrow,” replied Styebonsky quietly. 

“No! He has not written me about coming here.” 

“Doubassof, an organizer of the Social Democratic 
party, is coming through,” continued the old man. 
“Nelidoff is to join him here. They> are planning to 
organize the peasants.” 

“I must see him!” 

“That can easily be arranged,” said Styebonsky. “I 
shall see him tomorrow night at a secret rendezvous which 
we have arranged and I shall tell him.” 

An hour later Sofia was chatting with her aunt upon 
the usual topic — Sofia’s schooling. 

“Styebonsky is such a dear old gentleman,” said the 
aunt. “I am sure you must be gaining a great deal of 
information from him. What are you reading in French 
now?” 

Sofia told her. 

“You are making very satisfactory progress indeed. 
T am sure your dear mother, were she with us, would be 
overjoyed, as I know, the general is.” 

The aunt always called her brother, “the general,” 
which struck Sofia as an eccentric bit of affectation. Sofia 
wondered what this garrulous kind-hearted widow would 
have said had she known Boris’ plans. For she had al- 
ways been one of those most in favor of the match. 

The meeting with Boris came the next afternoon, 
although not as Sofia had expected. Boris had sent a 
note which Styebonsky had delivered in which he said it 
would be impossible to appear at the mansion. 

To tell the truth he had told only a few of the comrades 
of his movements. He was to address a meeting in a 
village nearby and did not wish to make any movements 
which might lead to his discovery. Instead of sending an 
answer by the messenger, Sofia asked to be directed to him. 

“I shall go to Boris myself,” she declared. 


1 6 Destruction of a Nation 

Unable to dissuade her, Styebonsky insisted on accom- 
panying her. 

“If we are both gone your auntie will think that we are 
out on some botany or geology trip,” he said. 

A few hundred yards down the road from the gate they 
entered a carriage and were driven about three miles to a 
village. The messenger conducted them to a cottage — a 
low plaster structure, straw-thatched and surrounded by 
a stone wall one fourth its height. Sofia gasped as she 
entered the room. It was the first time she had entered 
a peasant’s home. 

It was dark, hot and filled with the odors of human 
perspiration, chickens, pigs, boiling cabbage and other less 
distinctive articles of food and apparel. Extending along 
the farther end of the room was an oven and above it a 
wooden shelf. An old woman, dark, shriveled and bent 
was stirring a bowl of cabbage soup over the oven. She 
stopped long enough to inform them that Boris had gone 
out with “the Doubassof man” but would be back soon. 
Sofia noticed that the single room constituted kitchen, 
living-room and bed-room. On the shelf above the oven 
were bed clothes and a pillow. In one corner she was 
startled to see a hen nesting solemnly. 

When Boris came with Doubassof a half hour later 
Sofia was on the point of leaving. 

“What are you doing here?” said Boris rushing up to 
her and siezing both hands. “How well you are looking?” 

“I suppose I could ask you the same question,” she said. 

She drew him out of the cottage and into the courtyard, 
and, amid the clucking of a flock of chickens and geese 
which they had disturbed, poured out all her fears. 

“I have chosen to cast my lot with these oppressed 
people,” said Boris finally pointing toward the cottage. 
“It is a struggle in which one’s personal happiness means 
little. It is a fight for a New Russia that I have entered.” 

Boris told her of the strides that were being made in 
the cities and in the army by the Social Democrates. 

“At present we are organizing the peasants,” he said. 
“But the important work is among the workers and 
soldiers. I shall return to Petrograd as soon as I have 


Destruction of a Nation 17 

held the meeting here. Frankly though I am not satisfied 
with our progress among the peasants.” 

He described the distribution of propaganda in the 
factories of Petrograd. Each week a different pamphlet 
was distributed teaching Socialism in the plainest terms. 
Besides there was a paper pointing to the mistakes which 
the government was constantly making, and which the 
controlled papers dared not print. The corruption of the 
court and the wild revels of Rasputin’s followers were 
vividly chronicled. “Workers of the world unite, you 
have nothing but your chains to lose and a world to gain,” 
was the motto constantly placed before them. Striking 
cartoons brought home the horrors of an imperial and 
capitalistic war and other cartoons showed the beauties 
of the socialistic world. 

In the army the propaganda was of a somewhat dif- 
ferent nature. It taught that all men were brothers and 
that the kings and kaisers were back of all war. The 
Germans were simply working men and peasants like the 
Russians and who had been ordered into the trenches by 
their war lord. The soldiers individually had no griev- 
ances against each other and if the Czar and Kaiser had — • 
why let them fight it out! 

Sofia was swept away by the enthusiasm that shone in 
the flashing eyes of her lover. His boyish eagerness ap- 
pealed to her more than his arguments. When she left, 
she had become reconciled to the idea of being affianced 
to a martyr for the New Russia, although she warned 
him to be careful of government espionage. 

The next time Boris and Sofia met it was in quite 
different surroundings. It was at a ball given by Neli- 
doff in honor of General Piotuch who had just been 
placed in charge of one of the divisions on the western 
front. The general was to leave within two days to take 
command. Sofia had come late with her father and aunt 
and it was not until nearly midnight that a chance pre- 
sented itself to speak to Boris. 

They slipped out of the ballroom unobserved, while 
the merrymaking was at its height. Boris led her to the 
garden and down a path where they had often played as 


1 8 Destruction of a Nation 

children. The music and laughter faded into a dim, 
beautiful accompaniment. A full moon lighted the rose 
bushes and played softly on Sofia’s. slender figure. She 
was dressed in a delicate coral-pink chiffon which Boris 
admired, and which accentuated the contrast between 
her and the sombre figure which Boris presented — dark 
hair, dark eyes and black and white evening clothes. 

“I have decided to join the Social Democratic party,” 
said Sofia suddenly. 

He had been watching the effect of moon light on 
pink chiffon and golden hair, and was taken by surprise. 

“No!” 

“I mean it,” she said, slipping her slender hand into 
his. “What you have told me and what I have seen con- 
vinces me that Socialism is the only salvation for Russia.” 

Boris kissed her hand fervently. 

“I am proud of your decision!” 

A few days later Sofia decided that she would go to 
Petrograd to study the problem of liberating the factory 
workers from their “thralldom” — as Styebonsky termed 
it. As luck would have it her cousin Barbara had writ- 
ten her to come to Petrograd for a few weeks and al- 
though Sofia had neglected answering for several days, 
she now sat down and penned an acceptance to the in- 
vitation. There would be plenty of leisure, she thought, 
while visiting to accomplish her object. 

The letter was mailed Thursday. The following 
Tuesday Barbara wired a welcome and Sofia began prep- 
arations for her journey. Auntie, who was far too content 
with the placid life of the Piotuch estate to leave for 
even a few weeks, pleaded off because of a more or less 
mythical ailment, and so Sofia left accompanied only by 
her maid, Matushka. 

Matushka was perhaps the same age as her mistress, 
but short and dark. She was very fond of Ivan, the 
coachman, and in childish way often predicted that he 
would become a great man if given an opportunity. 

“There is not a better coachman in the czar’s service, 
especially when he has had a little vodka,” she boasted. 
He had, moreover, in her estimation, a much finer figure 


Destruction of a Nation 


19 


than General Piotuch or any of the other nobles whom 
she had met, could dance like Mordkin himself and, 
although not what one would call educated, could sign 
his own name! 

The little maid was extremely voluble, expressed all 
her ideas as rapidly as they popped into her head and 
was faithful as a czar’s body guard. She made an amusing, 
if sometimes tiresome, traveling companion. 

It was not until after she had spent a week in Petro- 
grad that Sofia found opportunity to meet Boris as she 
had planned. It was but for a few minutes, but it gave 
Boris time enough to tell her about a secret meeting which 
was to be held the following night. He urged her to 
come, now that she had been accepted by the party, so 
that she might see how revolutionary literature was being 
distributed. She was to come disguised. 

By taking Matushka into her confidence Sofia was able 
to slip out of the house unnoticed. She wore a man’s 
cloak over her. A public droshka took her within a few 
blocks of the rendezvous, Sofia preferring to walk the 
remainder of the distance to avoid possible espionage. 
Boris was waiting for her in a doorway. 

“I think the izvostchik suspected that I was a woman,” 
Sofia smiled, “although I tried my best to lower my voice.” 

“It will probably make no difference any way,” Boris 
reassured her. 

He told her to take his arm and together they passed 
through an iron gate and down a brick walk. The path 
led between two high brick walls of what appeared to< be 
deserted store houses and presently ended at a door in one 
of them. Boris knocked three times and three knocks 
sounded in response. A second and a third series of 
knocks were given, a wicket in the door opened and two 
eyes appeared. Sign and counter-sign were whispered, a 
bolt was shot, a squeaky lock turned and the door swung 
open. 

Sofia could see nothing because of the darkness for a 
few seconds. Then she saw that she was in a square hall. 
Boris appeared in whispered conversation with a dim 


20 


Destruction of a Nation 


figure at the farthest end. She waited patiently and 
then was summoned. 

“This is Doubassof whom you met at 

said Boris. “Your application was passed on and ap- 
proved at the last meeting and Doubassof spoke for you.” 

They shook hands briefly, the door was opened and she 
passed into the secret meeting place of the central com- 
mittee of the party. 

About a long oblong table sat a score of men and a 
half dozen women animatedly arguing. For the most 
part they were dressed in black, which set off with aston- 
ishing effect a red flag which decorated the opposite wall. 
At the head of the table a dark man, black beard, thin and 
sallow-skinned, was holding a gavel, while a stout blond- 
haired man, with the appearance of a rather fat peasant 
boy, was scribbling assidously in a book. 

Some were smoking. Others were sipping tea which a 
little straw-colored bobbed-hair girl kept pouring into 
their glasses at frequent intervals. 

For a moment the talking stopped abruptly as Sofia 
entered the room, and everyone threw her quick suspicious 
glances, but the appearance of Doubassof and Nelidoff re- 
assured them. A place was made for Boris and Sofia 
near one end of the table, while Doubassoff slipped into 
a chair at the left hand of the chairman ; as she sat down 
she noticed on the wall directly above the chairman, a 
picture of Karl Marx, decorated with two crossed red 
flags. 

One of the women, Sofia thought, kept eying her with 
more than usual intensity, although she would never 
permit herself to be caught at it. She had quick, shifting 
gray eyes that seemed- to pass from one face to another, 
but only for a moment or two. She was tall, dark and 
of rather striking appearance. She seldom took part in 
the argument except to ask whether the committee didn’t 
think that such and such a plan proposed should be put in 
the form of the motion and entered in the minutes or to 
counsel caution. This usually, however, had the effect 
of urging the rest to bolder measures. 

“Who is that woman?” Sofia whispered to Boris. 


Destruction of a Nation 


21 


Why, that is Anna Narasoff, one of our most active 
propagandists,” Boris replied. 

1 he chairman was distributing leaflets among the com- 
mittee members which were to be distributed in turn 
among the factory workers. Sofia expressed eagerness to 
aid in the work, although she was not a member of the 
committee. A bundle of several hundred leaflets was 
passed to her. The top leaflet, she could see, bore a car- 
toon of the czar shaking hands with a fat individual in a 
luxurious fur coat and hat named “Capital” while a man 
in rags labeled “Workingman” was engaged in polishing 
their boots. 

Sofia Piotuch,” the chairman announced as he checked 
off each name on a list which the secretary had handed 
him, “you are to distribute your leaflets in the X factory.” 
He gave the address. 

The assignments were now concluded and a meeting 
called for the following night to distribute more leaflets 
when a sudden flash appeared in one of the windows. The 
cracks in all the windows had been stuffed with rags and 
the shades pulled down so that no light would shine 
through, but now, Sofia observed, this shade was up. She 
remembered that Anna Narasoff had gone to the window 
and looked out, after expressing a fear that spies might 
be observing them from without. 

Boris had not noticed the flash, but was surprised to 
see the shade up and a conspicuous hole in the center of the 
pane. Most of those present had not seen the flash in fact. 
The rest were divided as to its significance. Boris hurried 
to the window and thrust his head through the opening. 
In the distance, it seemed to him, he saw a shadowy form 
retreating, although it was so dark that he could easily 
have been deceived. He pulled down the shade and re- 
ported the result of his inspection. 

Sofia suddenly gasped. She had made a discovery. 

“Anna Narasoff is gone!” she said. 

An hour later, after she had returned safely to her 
room, Sofia sat down at the desk to scribble a note which 
she had neglected to write Auntie. As she placed it in its 
envelope she began to reflect upon her experiences of the 


22 


Destruction of a Nation 


evening. The mysterious flash, coupled with the dis- 
appearance of Anna Narasoff, preyed on her mind, al- 
though the sergeant-at-arms had told Boris that Anna 
had left fully a half hour before the occurrence, complain- 
ing of a headache. 

Matushka the maid tiptoed into the room and Sofia 
soon forgot about her fears. Matushka rattled on about 
the wonderful sights she had seen walking about the city, 
finally said good night and slipped quietly out of the room 
with the cloak and hat which Sofia had worn which be- 
longed to Barbara’s father. 

The next day, and for many days, Sofia continued to 
distribute leaflets, pamphlets and supressed papers to the 
workingmen of Davidoffi factory. She carried them in 
in her blouse past the eyes of factory officials and gen- 
darmes without arousing suspicion. She told every one 
she was visiting a brother, one of the foremen, and a 
party member. 

Sofia felt happy. The old feeling of boredom which 
had oppressed her on the Piotuch estate had disappeared. 
She had found a purpose in life. 

Although Sofia was unable to spend any more evenings 
away from the X’s, she found it quite simple to slip away 
for hours at a time. She had many friends whom it was 
socially obligatory to visit and by cutting these calls to a 
half hour or so, found whole hours which she could de- 
vote to spreading Socialistic propaganda. At the same 
time, although this was more difficult, she managed to 
smuggle radical books into the house and read them at 
night. Barbara had found her reading in bed after 1 
o’clock in the morning on two or three occasions, but 
naturally assumed that she was absorbed in some novel. 
To escape detection, Sofia, always kept a novel at her side 
for emergency. If anyone came to the door she would 
immediately slip her book under the pillow and begin 
reading the novel. This precaution proved unnecessary, 
however. Barbara never asked Sofia what book she was 
reading. 

Sofia was to meet Boris one afternoon at Comrad L’s 
home to obtain copies of the Communistic Manifesto for 


Destruction of a Nation 23 

distribution. She found him standing in the doorway 
between two thick-set men, empty-handed and pale wffh 
excitement. He did not recognize her. 

Boris, she began and then stopped. There was 
something ominous about these men who were eying her 
so closely. One was of Boris’ height, the other an inch 
or two taller. The taller one had a grim look about his 
jaw that made her uneasy. Both had piercing, almost 
tigerish, eyes. They seemed to be waiting for Sofia or 
Boris to make some move. As Sofia paused, the taller 
man stepped toward her. 

“Sofia Piotuch, you were to meet Nelidoff, ” he began. 

“Stop,” cried Boris, “that is not she!” 

“Silence,” the other interrupted. “She called you 
Boris.” 

“You will come quietly with us to the police head- 
quarters,” said the larger man. 

The two detectives and the inspector of police grilled 
the two unmercifully in an effort to wring a confession 
from them. Boris had been warned by a comrade of the 
approach of the detectives in time to toss the pamphlets 
into an oven. But though nothing of an incriminating 
nature had been found on his person, the literature was 
found upon subsequent search. Boris pretended to be 
ignorant of how it had got into the oven. 

Sofia was finally escorted to an ante-room where she 
was searched by a woman attendant. Nothing of any 
importance was found. A half hour later the door was 
suddenly flung open and Sofia directed to re-appear be- 
fore the inspector. Boris was no longer in the room. 

“You might as well make a clean breast of it,” began 
the inspector in his gruff voice, although he attempted to 
play the role of a friendly counsellor. “We know every- 
thing. Your friend has made a confession.” 

To Sofia’s astonishment, the inspector gave a complete 
account of her activities and those of Boris since she had 
come to Petrograd, He even described the secret meet- 
ing of the central committee which she had attended and 
named the factories at which she and Boris had distri- 
buted radical literature. 


24 


Destruction of a Nation 


“Boris has confessed,” was her first thought. “Perhaps 
under compulsion.” 

“We know everything,” said the inspector. “All we 
want you to do is to verify this, list of names of the others 
implicated with you. Nelidoff has already given us a 
list, but in order to do an absolute justice ” 

The inspector need go no farther! Sofia knew that it 
was a trap! Boris conceivably might have confessed to his 
own part in the activities of the socialist party. He would 
never betray his comrades! Later they would summon 
Boris in and say that she had confessed. 

“There is nothing I can say,” said Sofia in reply to 
all questions, and bit her lips. 

“Perhaps you will admit that you and Nelidoff were 
present at the meeting now!” suddenly cried the inspector 
with the calculated effect, placing a photograph in her 
hand. It was a picture of the secret meeting! In the 
center Sofia beheld her own face. Her eyes had evidently 
been looking into the lens of the camera. Boris next to 
her, had had his profile turned. These two were the 
clearest faces. The rest, with the exception of a dark, 
bearded man whom Sofia remembered had sat beside Boris, 
were blurred. The photograph had been a flashlight. 

That was the meaning of the flash in the window! 

Neither Boris nor Sofia would utter a word that might 
lead to the arrest of any of their comrades but the evidence 
against them seemed complete, and the following morn- 
ing they were marched to the Petrograd prison. Not 
until the trial, a month later, did Sofia see Boris again. 

Sofia was led by a strapping woman attendant — a 
rather kindly person it seemed in spite of her apparent 
coarseness — to the dark, stone cell perhaps 30 x 15 feet, 
into which a pale light was filtering through a single 
iron-barred window at the left end of the room. As she 
became accustomed to the light, Sofia noticed that there 
were perhaps 40 women, of all descriptions, sitting on a 
wooden bench, squatting on the filthy floor or lying at 
full length on straw ticks. Most of them had blankets. 
Others had coats wrapped about them. 

As Sofia entered the room she was almost stifled by the 


Destruction of a Nation 


25 


odor of human filth and perspiration. It was infinitely 

worse than the peasant hut she had visited at . 

A young woman of about 21, dark, a few inches shorter 
than Sofia, and of delicate appearance, arose from her 
seat on the bench and offered it to the newcomer. 

“It will take you some time before you can bear to lie 
on the floor,” she explained. “It took me all of a week to 
get used to the vermin.” 

Sofia declined the invitation, although she siezed the 
girl’s hand and squeezed it warmly. In the meantime 
one of the women who had been lying in one corner of 
the cell quickly arose and ran to the vacant seat. 

Immediately a wrangle arose. 

“Shame to take the seat from the newcomer,” said one. 

“It belongs to whoever gets it,” said another. 

The majority contended that hospitality demanded that 
Sofia be given the seat in accordance with a custom. 
Sofia finally yielded, thanking them in a few heartfelt 
words. 

“You are Sofia Piotuch,” said the girl who had be- 
friended Sofia. “I am Beatrice Merisoff. You are sur- 
prised that I knew’ your name. But prison walls have 
both ears — and tongues.” 

She explained the working of the prison telegraph, 
whereby by means of a system of taps, prisoners could 
communicate with each other through the walls. The 
Smotritel’s orderly, who was a friend of one of the pris- 
oners, had mentioned the fact that Sofia Piotuch’s name 
appeared on the prison register and instantly the news 
had been telegraphed to every cell. They also knew that 
Boris had been imprisoned. Other prisoners who had 
heard of Sofia and Boris before, had passed on their in- 
formation to the rest. 

Sofia slept that night huddled up on the bench, stiff 
with cold. It was almost November now and chilly. She 
could not endure the thought of lying on the stone floor, 
which had never been washed, it seemed, and which 
streamed with insects. Two of the other inmates had 
offered her their blankets, but these seemed even filthier, 
if that were possible, than the floor. 


26 


Destruction of a Nation 


The next morning she discovered that the only oppor- 
tunity to wash would come at 10 o’clock, when all the 
prisoners were taken to the prison yard for a half hour’s 
airing. There was a pump in the yard and by taking 
turns, most of the prisoners got a chance to wash each day. 
Some of the women had towels. Others used torn linen. 

“Here comes the hot water,” some one cried at 1 1 
o’clock. The attendant was coming with a steaming pail 
of hot water for the morning’s tea. She was two hours 
late that morning. 

From little parcels of paper or linen the prisoners began 
removing tea leaves, sugar, cups, bottles and other utensils 
that would hold water, and spoons. The pail was placed 
in the center of the room and the process of tea-making 
begun. It was the great social event of the day. Sofia 
was nearly famished. She had not eaten for twenty-four 
hours, and accepted with alacrity from Beatrice, the prof- 
fer of a cup of tea and a crust of bread. The cup was 
broken and the crust was hard. The crust had been 
saved from yesterday’s supper, but it tasted better than 
any meal she could remember. 

Dinner was a disillusion. The attendant ladeled into 
dirty tin bowls a noisome concoction supposed to be cab- 
bage soup and thick slices of rye bread. Sofia ate the 
bread and gave the cabbage soup to a fellow prisoner. 
Supper brought a bowl of kasha of too doubtful appear- 
ance to eat, more rye bread and tea. Sofia ate the rye 
bread with tea. 

That night, overcome by fatigue, Sofia accepted a 
blanket from Beatrice and curled up in one comer of the 
cell to sleep. She became unconscious almost immedi- 
ately and did not wake up until late the following morning. 

“You are to be orderly tomorrow,” Beatrice said and 
explained the duties of that position. 

Each day a different person was orderly. The orderly 
swept out the room, removed the garbage, distributed the 
hot water and aided in the distribution of the food. Sofia 
was glad to be given some duty. She had not yet become 
accustomed to her surroundings and sat apart while the 
rest of the prisoners engaged in discussions. Almost as bad 


Destruction of a Nation 


27 

as the filth and dampness of the cell was the monotony. 

A few days later, by changes so gradual that she did 
not notice it, Sofia had become absorbed in the life of the 
prison. She took part in the conversations, speculated as 
to the fate of herself and her companions, told the story 
of her life and listened to the stories of the others. A 
half dozen of the inmates were prostitutes and drug fiends, 
wretched, shivering creatures, except when they managed 
to have a bit of cocaine and morphine smuggled in. One 
of these drug addicts had a face like a skull over which 
the parchment-colored skin had been streched tight. 
Another had a puffy, livid face. Most of the inmates were 
political prisoners, although some were thieves, receivers 
of stolen property, smugglers, bigamists, etc. One woman 
who sat in a corner all day, without taking part in the 
activities of the cell, a gray shawl pulled over her bowed 
head, had been accused of murdering her husband. Sofia 
knew them all by name, found a few among them whose 
friendship she really valued, found two who had come 
from wealthy bourgeoise families and one of the nobility. 
Most of the political prisoners had been teachers or 
daughters of professional men who did not have to work. 

Sofia wondered what Barbara would think if she knew. 
She had been kept incommunicando and given no oppor- 
tunity even to smuggle through a note. She wondered 
what her father, the aristocratic old general, would think. 
And auntie! By this time they must be searching the 
city for her. Perhaps they had asked the police to aid 
them. Perhaps it was better this way. They could do 
nothing to help her. Better let them think she had dis- 
appeared. 

Sofia had been in prison a week when the attendant 
appeared and summoned her before the sledevatil. The 
door of the sledevatil’s office had been left ajar and 
through it Sofia saw what caused her heart to stop for a 
single beat. The man’s back was turned to her, but she 
recognized the broad shoulders and the cut of the uniform. 
She stopped. 

“I can’t! I can’t!” she cried covering her face with 
her hands. 

But the man at the door had turned. Through parted 


28 


Destruction of a Nation 


fingers Sofia could see the rugged, weather-beaten face 
she knew so well, the full beard, the half-closed blue eyes, 
the expression of firmness. But now that dominant ex- 
pression was given to one of surprise and compassion. 

“Sonia! Sonia!” he cried, stretching his powerful arms 
to her. 

“Father!” 

The next moment father and daughter were locked in 
each others arms. 

“Why did you do it, Sonia?” asked the general at last. 

There were tears in his eyes and Sofia was sobbing on 
his shoulder. The sledevatil bit his lip and turned away. 

“I found out what had happened only two days ago 
and rushed here immediately.” 

He held her hands and talked as one might to an 
erring child. “The sledevatil and I have discussed the 
case and he may have something to say to you.” 

The sledevatil began to question her about her activ- 
ities with the Socialist party. She admitted that she had 
taken part in the distribution of literature and even 
agreed that the names of the factories supplied by the 
espionage service were those she had visited. There was 
no use denying it, she thought. 

“There is only one other question that I shall ask you,” 
said the sledevatil at length, rubbing his hands together 
and smiling. “Upon your answer your freedom depends.” 

The general nodded. 

“She will answer,” he said. 

“Who are the revolutionary leaders?” 

Sofia’s heart froze. For a minute she thought of her 
old life on the family estate, then of that in the prison 
cell. Her mind drifted for an instant to Boris, whom 
she had not seen since the night they were brought here. 
She thought of the members of the party whom she had 
met. Of how they had all sworn to live or die if neces- 
sary, for their ideals. She thought of the millions of 
people for whom the new Russia, the Socialistic state, 
had been dreamed. She thought of Styebonsky and the 
thousands of other men who had become martyrs in the 
struggle for liberty. 


Destruction of a Nation 


29 


“I will not buy my freedom at such a cost,” she said. 

Two weeks later she was tried. She scarcely recog- 
nized Boris when he was brought into the court room, 
so thin he had become, but her blue eyes were fixed on 
him throughout the proceedings. General Piotuch had 
come ; though stern follower of the czar, the disgrace of 
the situation weighed heavily upon him. One could see 
that he was torn between paternal love and his hatred of 
Socialism. However, he sat beside Sofia, whispering 
words of consolation to her. Since his first visit to the 
prison he had come every day, arguing with her for the 
most part in an effort to change her political views, fuming 
and tender in turn. He had succeeded, in making her 
life somewhat more tolerable by having her placed in a 
clean, though plainly furnished room in the prison and 
by bringing food. 

Boris’ trial was the same travesty on justice that Stye- 
bonsky described in his own case, although here the evi- 
dence against the prisoner was overwhelming. The judge 
seemed anxious to get the w’hole proceedings over as soon 
as possible, tried to hurry the witnesses, and cut Boris 
short even after he had been asked to answer questions. 
The sentence was no surprise. Boris took it philosophic- 
ally. Since his arrest, in fact, he had been certain of the 
outcome. Still when the judge announced that Boris was 
condemned to exile in Siberia, Sofia suddenly collapsed, 
her head between her outstretched arms. 

Boris ran to her side and the judge, catching the eye 
of an attendant, shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 
The attendant did not interfere. 

When Sofia regained consciousness she found herself 
in the arms of her lover, her father standing nearby and 
scowling at the judge watching the scene with a cynical 
smile. Although he usually detested sentimentalism, the 
judge was really amused. Boris remained seated opposite 
General Piotuch while Sofia was being tried. The trial 
vvas brief. The presence of General Piotuch, his high 
position with the government and his influence with the 
Petrograd police made court take a liberal attitude. 

Boris’ father the foreign minister, when notified of his 


30 


Destruction of a Nation 


son’s arrest had declared that he would rather shoot him 
with his own hand than permit him to live in Russia a 
traitor. General Piotuch had pleaded for leniency. Sofia 
was found guilty, but placed on parole to her father. 

The general had rented a suite in the Hotel L, where 
Sofia might rest for a few days, and replenish her ward- 
robe before starting for home. By this time the family 
had moved to the winter estate at Kazana where Sofia 
found the modest rooms luxuious after her prison expe- 
rience. 

But Boris! His face appeared before her continually. 
On the following morning he was to leave for Siberia. 
She must see him before he left. She decided to sneak 
out before her father arose the following day. 

Dawn found Sofia at the door of the grim prison. The 
prisoners were lined up by mounted cossacks and she could 
see Boris taking his place. She ran to him and flung her- 
self into his arms. For a brief minute they clung together. 
The Chief ordered the cossacks not to interfere. 

Sofia noticed the prison priest, in his somber black robes 
and hood, crossing the prison yard. 

“Boris!” she cried. “Boris, you will love me always?” 

“Always,” he said. “But do not wait for my return.” 

“You doubt my love?” 

“You must try to forget me. Time will heal.” 

“No, we shall be united. We shall be married, as we 
always planned. 

“Sonia, my little dove, you must forget. I shall be 
gone fifteen years. You must not wait.” 

The priest was drawing near. 

“We shall not wait!” Sofia cried. “We shall be mar- 
ried now!” 

Boris finally consented. 

The priest was summoned and explained the circum- 
stances. He was tall, impressive, with a dignified black 
beard and kindly grown eyes. He would be happy to 
bless the union as long as they had decided to become 
married. 

And there in the yard of the Petrograd prison was per- 
formed perhaps the strangest wedding ceremony in all 


Destruction of a Nation 


3i 


Russia. In sight of those men and women who were 
about to set forth into exile, in sight of the gendarmes and 
the cruel cossacks on their restless horses, in sight of those 
sinister stone walls, they knelt on the ground before the 
priest. 

They were man and wife. They had kissed each other 
solemnly and stood locked in a last embrace, while the 
cossacks trotted impatiently up and down the line and the 
prisoners began rearranging the bags in which were all 
their scanty belongings. A shrill whistle sounded. An 
order was issued for the prisoners to fall in. Boris sud- 
denly tore himself with a last kiss 1 from her arms and 
walked back to his position. 

The line had formed a column and was moving slowly 
through the iron gate. Boris, with a queer smile on his 

face, was looking behind and waving Dust arose 

from the road The column was disappearing in the 

distance She could no longer distinguish Boris 

Sofia fainted. 


32 


• Destruction of a Nation 


CHAPTER II 

Four years have passed between Chapter I and II. 

Boris was coming back. Sofia was singing as she stood 
looking out of one of the windows in the office of the 
foreign department. He would be there in another week! 
He had been gone less than four years. How the time 
had flown, while the Bolsheviks, now the dominant party 
in Russia, had undermined the structure of czarism. 
Nicholas was dead, the royal family was dead, Rasputin’s 
murdered body had been plunged beneath the ice of the 
Neva. Russia was free — and Boris was coming back. 
Boris was coming back as a commissioner of education. 
He would be one of the men to teach the rising generation 
the beauties of democracy and freedom ! 

Sofia waited for eight hours at the station. She had 
come two hours before the train was scheduled to arrive 
and the train had been six hours late. She hardly recog- 
nized him. His hair had turned partially gray — though he 
was only 25 — and there were lines in his face, now thinner 
and more pale. Her heart pounded wildly as he stepped 
toward her. He recognized her! She had not changed 
so much, then ! He was taking her hand and looking into 
her face. Thank heaven the same kindly brown eyes! He 
took her head between his hands and kissed her passion- 
ately. All the hunger' of those years of separation was in 
that kiss. Sofia was crying. 

Sofia took him to the little apartment she had rented 
within a few blocks of the foreign department. She was 
a translate r for the Soviet government, she told him 
proudly. The apartment contained only four rooms but 
was cozy and w arm. 

“Our dream is realized now,” said Boris. “Russia has 
been freed and w^e are to play a part in its education !” 

Boris viewed the future with happiness. He attended 
the committee meetings which often lasted all night and 
always had ideas to suggest, plans wffiereby the youth of 
Russia w^ere to be taught. 

He returned one night to find Sofia in tears. She had 
just been notified that they must share their apartment 


Destruction of a Nation 


33 


with two others. In order that there might be enough 
room for all and because housing accomodations were at 
present inadequate, the government had decreed that each 
person should occupy but one room! 

“I suppose it is just,” said Boris. “If there is not 
enough for all we have no right to four rooms. If we had 
congenial friends ” 

“You should see them!” said Sofia. They are coming 
tomorrow as soon as they can bring their clothing. 

The next day they came — two fat, pimple-faced men 
who were employed in the health department. They had 
formerly been scavengers and had been selected for their 
new duties because of their intimate acquaintance with one 
of the basic problems of public health, disposal of garbage. 
Sofia was almost in despair to see them track mud over 
her Oriental rug. 

“It’s all ours now,” said one of the two. “You see we 
are two comrades now, commisars like your husband.” 

Sofia resented this. The idea of their comparing them- 
selves with Boris ! But perhaps it was her old aristocratic 
breeding cropping out. She tried to overcome her dis- 
pleasure. 

Boris suggested that they move into another apartment 
with some one more congenial. On account of his official 
position he felt sure that he could arrange this. There 
was a young fellow in his office, Karloffsky, who was in 
search of a room. They would go out with him that 
evening to see whether Sofia liked him. 

“How wonderful it all is,” said Nelidoff. “Here we 
shall see and hear the best talent in Russia for only a 
nominal sum. It shows clearly how communism fosters 
the arts.” 

Indeed it seemed as though the theater had never flour- 
ished so brilliantly before. True the old spirit had dis- 
appeared. The groups of elegantly dressed gentlemen and 
ladies with their flashing jewels and brilliant court mann- 
ers; the light banter, the spirit of gayety, all were gone. 
So much the better, thought Sofia and Boris. Near 
them sat workingmen in their coarse blouses and boots, 
women of the streets, government clerks, high officials — 


34 


Destruction of a Nation 


all mingled promiscuously. Where formerly the most 
aristocratic society in all Europe had sat there was not 
a single full dress suit to be seen. 

Sofia had dressed plainly in deference to the new order 
of things, although she had cast wistful eyes at the even- 
ing gowns which hung unused in her wardrobe. She had 
permitted herself, however, the luxury of a pair of silk 
stockings and long gloves. These latter attracted the at- 
tention of a little clerk in the row behind them. 

'She leaned forward very gravely and tapped Sofia on 
the shoulder. 

“Why are you wearing those bourgeoise gloves?” she 
asked. 

“Do you think that one cannot wear them and still be 
a good Socialist?” asked Sofia smiling. 

“I do not know,” the girl replied. “But I think that 
no one but an aristocrat or a bourgeois — would want to 
wear them when the rest of us do not wear gloves.” 

Sofia removed her gloves, rolled them up and tucked 
them into her muff. 

For the first month, life in Moscow seemed very gay 
to Sofia and Boris. They attended the opera or theater 
almost every evening when committee meetings did not re- 
quire Boris’ presence. And committee meetings were be- 
coming less frequent. Never had they seen better plays 
presented by better actors. Wonderful ballets were per- 
formed by the most skilled dancers in the world. In their 
production, revolutionary conceptions of coloring, setting 
and interpretation had been introduced. The “artist” — 
whether painter, dancer, sculptor, actor or playwright — 
was held in the highest esteem. The people who had 
always been shut off from the world of art could not get 
enough of these things, now, it seemed. The “artist” was 
given a ration ticket equalled only by that of the commis- 
sars. In some cases great talent, had been awarded by 
Lenin rations — that is rations equal to those of the great 
Lenin himself. 

Then too there were continual processions and peasants 
and public meetings. People by the hundreds were con- 
stantly gathering to listen to Bolshevist orators. Trotsky 


Destruction of a Nation 


35 


himself, with his fierce, almost wolfish, cynical expression, 
addressed an immense meeting in commemoration of the 
heroes of the revolution. Trotsky swayed his hearers by 
the sheer brilliance of his oratory. It was a ringing plea 
for the living to continue the fight which the dead had 
started. He told of the cruelty of the czar’s reign, of the 
ignorance of the great masses, of the poverty of the peas- 
ants and workmen, of the suppression of freedom of 
speech and liberty of the press, of the corruption of the 
army. Now Russia was theirs to mold into the ideal com- 
monwealth that Karl Marx had first forseen. Only, 
they must first fight against the counter-revolution. They 
must resist to the last drop of their blood any attempt to 
overthrow the Bolshevist rule and bring back the old 
slavery ! 

Sofia went back to her apartment in a daze. She had 
been swept off her feet by Trotsky’s words. She despised 
herself for having complained at the manners of the two 
comrades who shared her apartment. She was eager to 
see the greatest social experiment in history — Bolshevism — 
a fact. 

She went about from place to place, whenever she found 
the opportunity and watched the change take place. So 
far, only the surface of things had been altered. The 
government had been taken over and a beginning had been 
made to enforce the new housing regulations. Otherwise 
there had been more making of speeches and drawing up 
of plans than actual work. 

In her own apartment, for instance, Sofia found that it 
was useless to come before io in the morning, and then 
there was often little work to be done until noon. Some- 
times she had nothing to do all day. At other times she 
was put to work translating documents of all kinds. Some- 
times they were foreign newspapers and pamphlets, which 
the authorities believed might contain valuable informa- 
tion. The work was mechanical. Sofia did not under- 
stand the purpose of much of her work or its importance. 

Boris accompanied Sofia on her little excursions through 
Moscow. They were like two children who had strayed 
into fairyland. They became so engrossed in the changes 


36 


Destruction of a Nation 


going about them that they disregarded the fact that 
their ration was becoming more meager and fuel almost 
impossible to obtain. 

They were present when the Morasoff linen factory was 
taken over by the workers. For a month after the re- 
volution the plant had been allowed to work under its 
capitalistic management, with the men drawing wages. 
Since then it had stood idle. The workers gathered in 
small groups representing different departments to choose 
delegates to the central committee, or soviet. This body, 
in turn, chose the officials of the company. 

It was a gay procession of workmen that marched into 
the factory following a band playing the Third Interna- 
tionale. There were speeches by all the members of the 
Soviet, and tea was served. At noon herring and bread 
were served and workers and newly-elected managers sat 
down together to eat and chat. No work was done. 

Sofia did not visit the Morasoff factory until two weeks 
later. This time she found practically the same situation 
as before. The looms remained idle and the men sat about 
on the benches, sipping tea, smoking cigarettes and phil- 
osophizing. In the business office, however, she found a 
large corps of book-keepers, stenographers and clerks, at 
work. 

“We are making our daily reports,” explained the head 
of the department. 

“Reports of what?” asked Sofia. 

“Oh, the department of commerce and the foreign de- 
partment each requires a daily report of operations. We 
must show what stocks of materials are on hand and how 
much is being produced. These reports are consolidated 
monthly and sent to the Soviet agents in London, Berlin, 
New York — in fact to every country on the globe. Other 
reports are made by other factories.” 

“But you are not producing anything so far as 1 I can 
see,” protested Sofia. 

“Things are not functioning as well as they might,” 
admitted the official,” but we must show the world that 
we are producing. Also we must keep the employment 
department informed as to the amount of labor we need 


Destruction of a Nation 


37 


so that no one need be unemployed. By mobilizing its 
labor the Soviet government is able to provide every man 
with a job.” 

Bewildered, Sofia returned to the shops and observed 
the men. Many of them were lying on tables asleep, 
their coats over them. Others were playing cards. As 
long as these workers were in control of all this machinery, 
she wondered, and the nation was in need of everything, 
why are they not producing? 

“We get our rations all the same,” one of the workers 
explained. “We are no longer slaves, but free men. We 
do enough work, but we are no longer exploited.” 

The work that was done, as the mood seized the 
workers, she found amounted to perhaps one-fiftieth of 
the output under normal conditions. 

“We are not able to work,” said a weaver in another 
department, “because part of our looms are broken and 
there is no way to get spare parts.” 

“Can’t you requisition them?” asked Sofia. 

“We have done that, but nothing comes of it. We 
make out our requisitions, they are sent to the proper 
authorities and delivered to the proper factory — but we 
do not get the parts. It is the same way with the fuel. 
We have ordered coal, but are told we cannot get any. 
The coal yards blame it on the railroads, which are crip- 
pled on account of the war. You see everything is a- 
gainst us. But all the same we draw our ration.” 

Boris noticed the same spirit in the factories he had 
visited. No one worked and everyone shifted the respon- 
sibility for this situation on some one else. The factories 
could not get materials. The railroads could not get coal 
or even locomotives and cars. The locomotive works and 
builders lacked ore and coal. Reports from the mines 
showed that they lacked machinery. 

Theoretically every one was supposed to work; but 
practically no one worked. Even the simple tasks were 
left undone. Boris came home one night to find the 
plumbing in the bathroom in need of repair. The scav- 
engers, of course, would not do it. But since they were 
employed in the health department they would put in a 


38 


Destruction of a Nation 


requisition. They brought a blank two days later for 
Boris to fill. They regretted their inability to read or 
write and therefore make out the forms themselves, but 
that was the fault of their oppression under the czar. 
Only the aristocrats and the bourgeoise had been educated. 

Three weeks later, after the bathroom had become 
quite unbearable, a committee of five appeared with the 
requisition. In accordance with the plan for mobilizing 
labor they had been recruited for this special task. No 
one any longer was forced to do the dirty work except as 
‘'soldiers in a great civil army” and as occasion required. 
Tt became every man’s duty to become such a soldier at 
times. 

The chairman of the commiittee, a short, stout, dark 
little man with thick lensed glasses, addressed the rest in 
a flowery speech, urging them to do their duty as Social- 
ists in cleaning the trap, just as they had cleaned out the 
old regime. They applauded very loudly and entered the 
bathroom. The chairman had never had any experience 
in this branch of work before, having been a teacher of 
literature in a gymnasium previously, so he asked for ad- 
vice on the subject. The others, typical Russian peasants, 
stood first on one foot, then on the other, offering advice. 
One thought there was no need for such luxury anyway. 
Another thought the pipe should be cut open. A third 
thought that if the bathroom were not used for a time, 
perhaps the obstruction might be . removed. They were 
equally at a loss when Sofia showed them a pipe in the 
kitchen which was leaking. 

Boris tried to comfort Sofia when he returned that 
night, although Sofia could see that something was 
troubling him too. As a matter of fact the minister of 
education had just decreed a system of education that 
should reach every Russian. But instead of adopting the 
suggestions that Boris had labored on for months the 
government had decided that university education should 
be made available to all, even to those who had never 
been inside a school before. Lecturers were to appear at 
all the factories to give a course which would encompass 
all education. 


Destruction of a Nation 39 

“But how could the workingmen who cannot read or 
write understand the lectures?” asked Sofia. 

“That is unnecessary,” Boris explained. “All that is 
required is attendance. And for that an extra ration is 
given. The result will be that all will be graduates of 
the Soviet University, but all will be exactly the same as 
they were before. Education seems to be an obsession with 
the department of education. But instead of starting in 
by teaching reading, writing and arithmetic, they want to 
start in with philosophy — the Socialistic philosophy, of 
course.” 

The capitalistic method of education was to be abol- 
ished. The children were to be allowed to study or not, 
as they pleased, so as to develop their own individuality. 
They were simply to assemble at the school for a few hours 
each day, clean the schoolhouse, build the fire, shovel the 
sidewalks and, in the short time remaining, recite. At 
noon a meal was to be provided. But in all the studies — 
even grammar — the Communistic spirit was to be incul- 
cated. The capitalist is a traitor to his country, but cap- 
italists are traitors to their country” was a typical ex- 
ample in grammar. 

Sofia told him about the plumbing. 

“I suppose we must go through trying times, said Boris. 
“It is only an indication of how oppressed the people were 
before. They understand nothing about education or 
business because they have not been taught. It was the 
same way, you know, after the French revolution.” 

“Only we have no such reign of terror, thank heaven !” 

Boris looked grave. 

“I am afraid that something like it has become neces- 
sary,” he said. “You see the happiness of the Russian 
people depends ultimately on their ability to keep the 
government, the land and the means of production and 
distribution in their own hands. There is a terror. The 
extra-ordinary commission has been appointed to put down 
counter-revolution. The commission makes its own ar- 
rests, dispenses its own justice, and carries out its own sen- 
tences, and there is no appeal.” 

It was the first time Sofia had heard of the extra-ordin- 


40 Destruction of a Nation 

ary commission. She was to hear about it in a more in- 
timate way. 

Although Boris was a commissar and his salary 
amounted to 15,000 rubles a month, prices had gone up so 
rapidly that it was all that Sofia could do with her added 
earnings to provide sufficient food for the table. Although 
there were restrictions against buying and selling Sofia 
decided to visit the gre^tf market pLace, Sucharowka. 

She had come within a few blocks of it when she noticed 
the huge crowd suddenly disperse. Riding on horses and 
armed with whips came perhaps twenty men. They were 
members of the extraordinary commission, some one cried. 
It was late in December and the snow lay deep on the 
ground. As the commissioners came riding toward them, 
men, women, and children fell in the snow in their haste 
to get away. 

An old man, shivering in his threadbare coat had man- 
aged to stumble on through the snow to Sofia’s' feet when 
he suddenly collapsed from weariness. A horseman, how- 
ever, spied him and came galloping up, reining his horse 
very short and dismounting. 

“Hey, there, get up,” said the officer with a brutal kick. 
The man rolled over, his face turned upward, his white 
beard covered with snow, his little eyes staring out of 
their sockets, his fur cap blown off and his white hair 
stiff with cold. But he said nothing. The old man was 
dead. 

Sofia turned and ran home. Boris found her at home 
an hour later. She was lying on the couch sobbing hys- 
terically. 

Spring came and ever mounting prices. Food was be- 
coming a problem. Boris decided to ride into the country 
the next Sunday. He was unable to obtain railroad trans- 
portation however, and had to borrow one of the auto- 
mobiles of the department of education. With Sofia they 
drove to what had once been the estate of an uncle, about 
thirty miles from the city. He found the roads almost 
impassable on account of neglect, although the walls had 
the same friendly, familiar air. The gates a little rusty, 
looked almost as handsome as they had five years ago, the 


Destruction of a Nation 


4i 


last time he had visited there. But once within the gates, 
what a change ! In place of the handsome stone chateau 
stood a heap of stones. A peasant who lived in the gate- 
keepers lodge told Boris the story. 

When the revolution came the peasants were unwilling 
to change their mode of life. Or rather the peasants’ 
wives, as most of the men were still in the army. Their 
houses were neat and clean. They were well clothed and 
had sufficient though plain food. Since the abolition of 
vodka, moreover, they had been able to improve their con- 
ditions and even to save a little. But an agitator had 
come from Moscow — a dark-haired man, who spoke very 
well and who brought vodka with him. The agitator was 
in the village when the peasants threw down their arms 
and returned to their farms. The peasants found things 
very satisfactory, but they, were told that the land was 
theirs and that they would be fools not to take it. 

One night the agitator led the peasants, inflamed with 
liquor, to the chateau. He wanted them simply to sieze it, 
but some of them lost their heads and began pillaging and 
destroying. Finally one of the rioters knocked over a lamp 
and soon the whole building was ablaze. The next day 
they were sorry. The chateau was of no use to them now. 

For a time they fared rather badly. The manager had 
fled with the members of the family and no one was will- 
ing to assume the responsibility of running the farm. 
Some of the best stock and horses died from lack of care. 

The agitator told them to divide the land and they did, 
but some got better land than others, which engendered 
bad feeling and there was no way of dividing the farm 
machinery exactly. They found that tilling their own 
little plot was not so easy or profitable as running the 
whole estate as a small enterprise, yet there was no one 
who could or would manage it. 

Nevertheless the crops were good. The socialist officials 
all attributed it to division of the land, although the peas- 
ant, with a sly laugh, thought that perhaps the unusually 
fine weather had something to do with it. Finally he ad- 
mitted that the crops had been so good, because the peas- 
ants, in spite of poor management, planned to sell their 


42 


Destruction of a Nation 


crops in exchange for manufactured goods in the city 
markets. 

They had never worked so hard before. 

“Why didn’t you say so at first?” Boris asked. 

“Because the Soviet officials have just informed us that 
everything over 40 pud of potatoes and 100 bushels of 
wheat will be taken from us. We are not supposed to 
sell anything. We worked so hard last year because we 
thought we would get the benefit of our crops, but this 
spring we are sowing just enough to provide a few bush- 
els for the government agents. The cities? Well, if they 
don’t want to starve they can come out here and work the 
land too.” 

Sofia and Boris had brought some of their rugs to trade 
for potatoes, flour and fresh meat. The farmers, they had 
heard, were no longer so eager to accept money on account 
of the difficulty of buying in the city markets. They re- 
turned with the back of the car loaded. It would provide 
them with necessities for a month. Fearful of being ar- 
rested for trading, they traveled at night. 

Sofia was sent one day with an important document to 
Lenin’s office in the Kremlin. She was given a pass and 
passed over the bridge within the high walls that sur- 
rounded the former palaces and government offices of the 
old imperialistic government. The churches with their 
gilded domes, the magnificent palaces, the spacious grounds 
seemed little changed from the old days. But the people 
were different. Where formerly one would see only mem- 
bers of the nobility, one now saw workingmen in rude 
blouses and torn boots. She was even shocked to find the 
two scavengers, greasy as ever, walking into the door of 
what had once been the palace of the grand duke. Their 
boots were covered with mud. 

Sofia was made to wait in a magnificent but filthy ante- 
room for nearly an hour. About fifteen others were 
waiting in the same room with her. The girl who took 
Sofia’s message was dressed in an officer’s uniform with 
a pistol and holster in her belt. She took a seat at a desk, 
placed her spurred boots on the mahogany and sat teeter- 
ing back and forth on the legs of the chair. Her hair 


Destruction of a Nation 


43 


was bobbed and only her high voice betrayed her sex. A 
little Chinese boy was sitting beside her cracking nuts 
with a hammer on the mahogany desk. At length the girl 
removed her boots, called out Sofia’s name in a loud voice 
and orded her to follow her. They passed through sev- 
eral large rooms at which many girls were working at 
typewriters and over ledgers. 

Lenin’s room, she was surprised to find, was 1 no better 
cared for than the ante-room. 

Lenin walked into the room through a side door, took 
the document and began scanning it very hurriedly. He 
was an impressive looking man, of medium size, but with 
queer cross-eyes that somehow bored through one, a light 
straggly beard, a high head. It was a face that one would 
not easily forget. It was the face of an intellectual man. 
The intense eyes were those of a fanatic. Lenin stopped 
to chat for a few moments before dismissing Sofia. He 
told her briefly of how hard he had worked. He had 
been at his desk from twelve to twenty hours a day, some- 
times without sleep, he said. His quarters were the same 
as those of any other Russian citizen and his food was ex- 
actly the same quality and quantity in spite of his ration 
allowance. 

“I am happy to make this sacrifice for my country,” 
he said. 

Sofia returned to the apartment that night happy. She 
had seen Lenin and caught some of his inspiration. If 
that man, with his great intellect and power could live 
like that, what right had she to complain? She feit 
ashamed of having procured the provisions from the 
country, and even tried to smile at the presence of the two 
ex-scavengers. Boris was glad to see her so pleased. She 
appeared happier than she had for months. That night 
they went to a play with some friends. 

One morning an official came to check up on the prop- 
erty. They had been supposed to do it before, but had 
neglected it. Each person was allowed only two complete 
suits of underclothing, suits, etc. There was not enough 
to go around and so those with more than enough must 
give of their surplus. 


44 


Destruction of a Nation 


“If the people own all their own factories, why don't 
they make what they need?” Sofia asked Boris that night 
at dinner. “How can they go on living this way?” 

Boris shook his head. 

Two days later a committee of comrades appeared to 
sieze the surplus clothing. Sofia thought of Lenin and 
the sacrifice he was making for his country and tried to 
relinquish the clothing cheerfully, but there were tears 
in her eyes when they took a pink coral evening gown. A 
few pieces of lace and embroidery, of whose real value 
the officials had no idea, she had been allowed to keep. 

Boris was looking for a book one night. He had had 
no chance or inclination to read for several months. The 
books, in fact, on account of the smallness of the apart- 
ment had been kept in the room of one of the scavengers. 
Boris was horrified to find that only a few of the hun- 
dreds of volumes remained. He called Sofia. She knew 
nothing of their disappearance. As they were leaving 
the room, Sofia uttered a cry. 

“There’s part of a book in the stove.” 

A small heater, not in use, occupied the center of the 
room and in through the open door Boris noticed some 
paper. He pulled it out. They were pages from a volume 
of Pushkin which he had won in school as a prize many 
years ago. He thrust his hand into the stove again and 
pulled out a cover of a leather-bound Shakespeare. 

“My God, what have these vandals done!” he cried. 
The door opened and one of the scavengers, Feodoroff, 
appeared. 

He was happy to see them in his room and took it as 
an indication that he had won their friendship. 

“Where are my books?” demanded Boris. 

“Books, Books,” repeated Feodoroff. “Oh, those? We 
used them last winter when the wood was scarce. They 
made a fine fire.” 

“You dogs,” cried Boris. 

Feodoroff looked puzzled and scratched his head. 

“Dogs? Dogs?” 

“Yes, you have destroyed a collection of twenty years. 
Every one of those books was like a part of me.” 


Destruction of a Nation 


45 


Feodoroff shook his head. 

“Comrade, if I had only known the value of those books 
I would not have used them,” he said. “In fact Michael 
wanted me to burn the panels in the door, but I thought 
you would appreciate it if we burned only the books. 
And after all they make such a good fire.” 

“You ignorant animal!” said Boris through clenched 
teeth, his muscles tense. 

He turned and walked out of the room, pale and trem- 
bling. Sofia followed him. The scavenger stood in the 
doorway and puzzled at all this to do about books. 

“Don’t you see, Boris,” said Sofia quietly a half hour 
later, “that these creatures are not to blame. It is the 
fault of the old system that did not teach them the value 
of books. It was cold. They needed fuel. When we 
sat about the house in our furs, these men burned the 
books.” 

“Yes, yes,” replied Boris, bitterly. “That is true. But 
what have we to do with these creatures? Why must we 
endure them and why should they destroy my books? 
Why should they be government officials? They can’t 
sign their names.” 

Boris and Sofia decided to move into another apartment. 
They could not endure being under the same roof with 
the scavengers. It was not merely the burning of the 
books. It was their general manners. They went about 
the house unshaved, dirty and in all stages of dress. They 
often invited comrades as unmannerly as themselves and 
sat up until the early hours playing cards and singing 
boisterous songs. Sofia on more than one occasion had 
smelled vodka on them. 

An apartment had been found in a respectable neigh- 
borhood. It was occupied by a widow and her three 
children and there were two more rooms available. But 
when Boris wished to requisition a truck to move Ins 
furniture he discovered that the requisition would not 
be issued. 

“Private property has been abolished,” He was told. 
“The furniture belongs to the house. You have no more 


46 


Destruction of a Nation 


right to it than the next person who occupies your rooms. 
So we will not move it.” 

Sofia could not bear to give up the oriental rugs and 
mahogany furniture which she had chosen with such care 
in anticipation of Boris’ return. Undecided, they waited 
until some one else had been alloted to the widow’s apart- 
ment and it was too late. 

They stayed on. Sofia became more and more dis- 
gusted with her life there. The scavengers were unen- 
durable. The plumbing was defective. Water had to be 
carried to the fourth floor from an old pump in the yard. 
There was no gas and all the old lumber, boxes and paper 
had been burnt. It was a case of living on uncooked food 
or burning the picture frames, kitchen chairs, moldings 
and inside doors. These articles were sacrificed. 

Food was becoming more scarce. Their dinner con- 
sisted of webla (a dry fish), grated and mixed with water, 
casha (millet) and coarse government bread. Of bread 
they were allowed only one pound each a day. 

Because there was no janitor service, no garbage col- 
lection, no efficient plumbing, keeping the apartment clean 
presented a real problem. Sofia worked most of the day, 
six days a week, and so Sunday had to be reserved for 
washing and cleaning. Boris laboriously climbed up and 
down the stairs with pails of water, got down on his hands 
and knees to scrub, helped wash the soiled linen and 
dusted the house. Soap was a luxury far beyond their 
means, even if they had wished to purchase it illegally at 
the market. 

Sofia wondered how she, or the proletariat, for that 
matter, had benefitted by the revolution. 

“The workingmen used to get plenty of food and of a 
much better quality,” she said to Boris one night. “They 
had sufficient clothing. They were well housed and clean. 
Where is the benefit to them? Now t no one has enough. 
The rich are no longer rich, but then the poor are infin- 
itely poorer. Was political freedom worth the sacrifice?” 

For the first time Boris felt doubtful. Curiously he 
expressed this feeling in terms of food. He had always 
despised gluttony, but now he found his thoughts turning 


Destruction of a Nation 47 

more and more to food. In fact, like Sofia, like practic- 
ally everyone else in Russia, he was half starved. 

“1 oday I ate fish paste and bread,” he said. “Yet 
Russia is the wealthiest country on the face of the earth 
in natural resources. Grain, fruit, milk, meat, there is a 
super-abundance of all these things. Now it is ours, we 
are told, but millions like me are living on fish paste. 
Ugh!” 

He registered disgust. 

“I have always blamed our conditions on the war and 
the lack of imports. Still why can’t we do the simple 
things at hand. Why can’t I get a plumber to fix our 
pipes? Why can’t we get gas or fuel or electric light for 
our apartment. Those things can be produced here. Why 
is there no soap? Yesterday I watched a band of volun- 
teers march down to an intake which had become clogged. 
They were all enthusiastic Bolsheviks. At the head came 
a band playing the Marseillaise. They were all singing 
and waving banners. They came into the intake and 
formed a circle, while one of them made a speech. Then 
they started to work. They wouldn’t take the advice of 
any bourgeoise engineer and so blundered along themselves 
for half an hour. Then they got tired, listened to another 
speech and marched home again, — to music, of course. 
The intake has not been cleaned. Can you wonder that 
an epidemic of typhus has broken out?” 

“Three months ago I tried to have some benches made 
for one of the schools. I had a requisition made and took 
it personally to the Commissar of supplies. He looked 
over a list of wood-working shops in the city and sent it 
to one of them. Out of curiosity I followed the requisi- 
tion to see what would be done with it. The order was 
listed on the books and a requisition filled out for labor. 
They would need fifty workmen. Imagine fifty workmen 
for as many benches! The labor requisition was sent to 
the labor commissar who studied lists of factories to find 
out which had surplus labor. As a matter of fact no one 
is working, though the reports show them turning out 
millions of rubles worth of products each week. The 
commissar requisitioned laborers from ten different shops. 


48 


Destruction of a Nation 


A week later the men appeared at the shop. Of course 
it took two weeks to get to the commissar of labor. That 
was over five months ago. Now I have just been in- 
formed that there is not enough wood, and what there is 
must be conserved for fuel.” 

Sofia nodded her head. She recalled similar experiences. 

Perhaps worse of all to Boris, however, was the farce 
that had developed out of the program of education. The 
latest absurdity had been the decree that the bourgeoise 
idea of teaching medicine must be abolished. In order 
to treat the eye it was not necessary to know all about the 
ears and lungs. In order to be a lung specialist one need 
not know all about the eyes. They had therefore cur- 
tailed the old bourgeoise course that had required seven 
years of university training to three educational years. 
The student had to begin specializing on eye, lung, heart 
or what not as soon as he began his studies, and without 
having a general foundation. 

“Even three years wouldn’t be so bad,” said Boris. “It 
might turn out some doctors, scholarly fellows, who 
would of their own accord study after graduating. But 
instead of confining themselves even to their specialty — 
which would make an absurdly narrow education at best — 
they try to mix up socialism with it. They speak of the 
political body and the need of curing it of capitalism and 
such bosh. These things are all right as figures of speech. 
But the poor peasants and workmen on the committees 
have actually accepted these things literally and want to 
make them part of the medical education! Of course the 
school children hear nothing else but socialism.” 

Boris pondered for a moment. 

“I think there is something in the nature of the Rus- 
sian people themselves,” he finally said. “Perhaps it is a 
certain childishness that makes them accept all these doc- 
trines on faith, but it gives them nothing with which to 
work out their ideals practically. 

The factories are all in their hands, but they’re like a 
lot of children. They don’t know what to do with them. 
They think they can drink their tea and listen to music 
and fine speeches instead of working. They can for a 


Destruction of a Nation 


49 ' 

time six months, perhaps a year, or two years. But 
everything will be eaten up — and what then? I don’t 
know. I have been thinking it over. Socialism looked 
like a beautiful dream— on paper. But there is something 
about human nature that won’t let it work. 

“Remember the time we smuggled provisions from 
uncle’s estate? The peasant said that in spite of poor 
management last fall’s crop had been a good one because 
the peasants thought that they could sell their surplus 
crop. This year, he told us that because the land had been 
nationalized and everything over 40 puds of potatoes and 
100 bushels of wheat and so forth would be taken away, 
they would not work so hard. 

“In the factories one hears the same argument, ‘I get 
my ration anyway, if I work or not. So why should I 
work?’ ” 

Boris took Sofia’s hand in his very gently. 

“I have spent three years 1 in Siberia and given up my 
Jiome and wealth for a dream,” he said in a low voice. 
“You have given up your home and wealth for the same 
dream.” 

They sat silent for a long moment. There were tears 
in Sofia’s eyes. She knew what disillusionment meant to 
Boris. 

Their disillusionment grew. 

“It seems to me that I heard automobile motors run- 
ning all night,” she reported to Boris one morning. It 
can’t be merely my imagination because I have heard the 
•same sound for the last two weeks, mingled with shooting.” 

“Yes, it is the firing squad of the extraordinary com- 
mission,” said Boris. “The motors are used to drown 
the sound.” 

Sofia shuddered. 

“Why must they kill?” she asked. “Are there so many 
murders?” 

“No, but there are other capital offenses. Of course 
they are all called overthrowing the revolution. But al- 
most anything can be construed as that. A man tries to 
buy some flour at the Sucharowska. Another changes 
Kerensky money into Soviet money. A third expresses 


•50 


Destruction of a Nation 


doubts as to the wisdom of the Soviet government. They 
can all be shot.” 

It was this last offense particularly which Sofia could 
not understand. Czarism had been overthrown for one 
reason, at any rate, because it opposed freedom of speech 
and the press. But the Bolsheviks did the same thing. 
Only they were more rigid in theii restrictions. Only two 
newspapers, both under government control were allowed 
to be published. The appearance of any other paper dar- 
ing to criticize the government made the publisher liable 
to the death penalty. 

One day Sofia met a Socialist who had been deported 
from the United States for sedition. The American did 
not look so happy in this red paradise, however, as one 
would think, when one remembered that before his depor- 
tation he had often spoken of Russia as the land of free- 
dom. 

“Why don’t you ever make public speeches over here?” 
asked Sofia. “We should all like to get an American’s 
viewpoint. I have heard that you had quite a reputation 
as an orator in the United States.” 

The American shook his head. 

“I have an aversion to being shot in the mouth,” he 
replied with a cynical smile. 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Sofia. 

“If I spoke the truth I should be shot in the mouth. 
The day after I landed I heard a man deliver a speech. 
A member of the extraordinary commission did not ap- 
prove of it, pulled out a revolver and shot the speaker 
directly in the mouth.” 

It was true. Free speech was dead. It was impossible 
to express a political, or even an economic view, contrary 
to that of the government or the government officials 
without becoming liable to arrest. It was infinitely worse 
in this respect than it had ever been under the most tyran- 
nical of the czars. Public meetings, except under the 
strictest police regulation, were prohibited. Secret meet- 
ings were raided, and speakers and audience alike arrested, 
and, in many cases, shot. 

Sofia discovered a three room apartment which had just 


Destruction of a Nation 


5i 


been vacated and decided to ask the commissar of housing 
himself for permission to move her furniture. She went 
to a palace in the kremlin and was kept waiting in the 
ante-room of the house. She was finally admitted to a 
great room, which she remembered having seen before. 
It had been the music room of the Princess, one of Sofia’s 
friends. Only now the tapestry had been ripped off the 
walls and the paintings cut from their gilt frames, the 
rugs torn and the furniture scratched and broken. Every- 
thing appeared filthy. Ten minutes later the door opened. 
Sofia started. There stood Ivan, her coachman. Only a 
different Ivan. An older, stouter, more dignified Ivan. 

“Ivan, Ivan!” she cried, “What are you doing here?” 

I am the commissar,” he began and then noticed that 
it was Sofia. 

“You the commissar!” she exclaimed incredulously. 

Ivan frowned, and Sofia at once recognized her mistake. 

“Just because you aristocrats kept us suppressed is no 
reason why I should not be a commissar,” he said very 
sternly. “Under this government of the proletariat every 
man has a chance. And I, your old coachman, get a 
better ration now than the most aristocratic of the old 
nobility.” He licked his lips. 

Sofia, to gain her end, began to flatter him. She re- 
called that he had always been considered one of the 
finest coachmen in Russia and that Matushka, her maid, 
had always predicted a brilliant future for him. 

“Matushka! Ah, you should see Matushka now!” ex- 
claimed Ivan with a broad smile on his face. “We are 
married now. We were one of the first to be married 
under the new rule. Simply registered our names, you 
know. Wait, I shall call her — or better still you can come 
into our living rooms.” 

He led Sofia through the door into the magnificent 
rooms that had once held the flower of Russian aristoc- 
racy. But like the music room which Ivan had chosen 
as his office, the tapestry had been ripped off in huge 
squares, the rugs torn and the furniture marred. 

Matushka was dressing and Ivan and Sofia sat down 
in two of the elegantly gilded chairs to wait. Full of his 


52 


Destruction of a Nation 


own importance, Ivan told how he had become commissar 
of public property. When the rioting started and the 
mobs rushed into the palaces of the Kremlin, Ivan because 
of his height, was chosen as a leader. Some one nick- 
named him the “bear” and shouted to him to lead them. 
Pushed by the mob the coachman had gone ahead. Pie 
had taken a hand in smashing statues and furniture and 
ripping tapestry and upholstery. Why he did this, he 
could not answer, although it was great fun at the time 
and every one else was doing it. It seemed heroic in a 
way. Now he was sorry about the furniture, for he lived 
in this old palace himself. But as for the tapestry, that 
was not so bad, as be, like other rioters, had taken it home 
to his sweetheart for a dress. Ivan had become a popular 
figure in the rioting, had led several expeditions into the 
palaces and public buildings and was chosen as an official, 
he supposed, on that account. 

A moment later Matushka appeared, dressed in one of 
the pieces of tapestry that Ivan had torn from some 
palace wall. She swept into the room with the air of a 
czarina. Ivan had told her who their guest was and she 
tried to impress her former mistress. Sofia listened to 
their bragging, half way between laughter and tears. It 
was ludicrous the change that had come over them. Yet 
it was sad too. Both, Sofia could see, were heartily glad 
that the aristocrats and the bourgeoise were being made 
to do the hardest physical labor, although they themselves 
were well housed and clothed and fed while Sofia and 
Boris were starving in their stuffy apartment. To im- 
press her they had servants — employes of the department — 
bring in afternoon tea. There was the first white bread 
that Sofia had seen in one year, preserved fruit and honey. 

“We always have white bread,” said Matushka. “You 
should come to a real meal.” 

Later wine was brought and under its influence Ivan 
continued bragging about his good fortune. Whenever 
private property was seized, he said, he always got a part 
of it and then sold it at the Sucharowka. On days that 
he and other commissars sold, the markets were allowed 
to operate, but on other days when the starving bour- 


Destruction of a Nation 


53 


geoise, the officers and aristocrats brought out their old 
family heirlooms the markets were raided. The offenders 
were locked up and sometimes shot and their property and 
money was divided among the commissars. But some of 
the other commissars were sending their gold and plunder 
to Stockholm and preparing to flee from Russia. They 
were afraid of an uprising. As for himself he did not 
care what these fools did, any uprising could be put down 
with machine guns and as for himself, he would stay in 
Russia. 

As Ivan drank more and more he became incoherent. 
At last he rolled down on the floor and fell asleep. Sofia 
remembered with a start that her mission had not been 
accomplished. She doubted, however, that she could have 
obtained permission to remove her furniture, for although 
Ivan had pretended to be friendly, she could see that all 
his actions and those of Matushka were meant to humil- 
iate her. She recalled, however, Ivan’s saying that a raid 
would not be made on the Sucharowka for the next two 
days. This gave her an idea. 

She took one of her rugs, of exquisite Chinese design, 
and hurried to the market. Thousands of people were 
there, including many of the old nobility whom she rec- 
ognized, and many peasants. The latter had brought 
in their surplus produce to exchange for luxuries. For 
the first time in months Boris and Sofia, dined on fresh 
vegetables, honey and coarse wheat bread. It was not a 
luxurious meal by any means — it was much worse than 
the daily meal of the proletariat before the revolution — 
but compared with webla it was a banquet. 

Conditions grew worse during the summer. Peasants 
were rioting in the suburbs and burning their produce 
rather than surrender it to the officials. Mensheviks, 
Social Democrats, Constutional Democrats and others 
of the stronger political parties, began protesting at the 
failure of the government to call a constitutional assem- 
bly. Men grumbled because they were forced to “volun- 
teer” for military service by officials who had revolvers 
to their heads. Workingmen grumbled because the food 
was becoming unbearable. 


54 


Destruction of a Nation 


Physical conditions grew worse. Railroads were fall- 
ing into disrepair. Street railways ceased to run, although 
the government announced for the benefit of the rest of 
the world that electrification of the Petrograd Moscow 
line had been begun. Sofia and Boris knew that there was 
not enough electric current in Moscow to supply their 
own lights. They went early to bed, or, when necessary, 
burnt paper torches. 

Factories ceased producing and even the slender house- 
hold goods were being depleted. Moscow went about in 
patched clothing and ate off broken dishes. Sewers were 
clogged, water pipes broke and were not repaired, sanitary 
plumbing systems failed. Moscow was filthy and suscep- 
tible to any disease that was introduced. Epidemics of 
cholera and typhus swept the city and people, unable to 
get either medicine or competent medical attention, died 
like flies. Bodies were allowed to decompose for days 
and were then buried together in huge trenches. 

Economically it was a world chaos. Politically it was 
a despotic tyranny — cruel, stupid and vindictive. Men 
were shot for expressing their opinions, for holding meet- 
ings, for publishing unofficial news. 

Election of local soviets was controlled by force and 
only commissars whom the upper council favored were 
elected. There was the grossest favoritism in the selection 
of officials. Persons who never attended gymnasium 
taught higher branches of learning in the new “univer- 
sities”. Workingmen and peasants without the least 
technical training became “engineers”, “sanitary inspec- 
tors,” “superintendents of operation,” etc. It was a 
reign of incompetence. 

No one was satisfied. Every one waited for a deliverer, 
who would lead the people in a new revolution. People 
lost their gayety. Physically and mentally undernour- 
ished they walked about apathetically. Ambition, pride 
in personal achievement, love of home and property, pa- 
triotism and, in most cases, religion were dead. Though 
the churches remained unmolested a steady undermining 
of religion went on through speeches and the government 
press. It was a city which had lost its soul. 


Destruction of a Nation 


55 


But not quite. Little bands here and there, in spite of 
physical weakness and the intimidation of the extraordin- 
ary commission, held meetings in secret to plan the over- 
throw of the Soviet government. In October a great 
protest meeting of the working men was to be held. Boris 
was to make one of the principal addresses. 

The night of the meeting came. Sofia and Boris went 
early and found the hall already crowded. Boris was 
loudly cheered as he made his way to the platform. As he 
looked over the audience he could see that most of them 
were reading little pamphlets which he had helped dis- 
tribute and which called upon the workingmen to protest 
against their oppression. 

Never before had Boris spoken so well. He moved his 
audience to wild outbursts of applause at one moment and 
to tears the next. He set the heads of his auditors to nod- 
ding and caused expressions of approval to rise spontane- 
ously from their lips. He spoke of his own life, of the 
sacrifices that he and Sofia, (who sat beside him) had 
made. He referred to the horrors of Siberia. He told 
of the joy with which he had heard of the revolution and 
his happiness to return to Sofia. Then he began to paint 
a picture of the new era. One by one he compared con- 
ditions. Physically, he said, the people were worse off. 
Wages, expressed in food;, clothing, shelter, and luxuries, 
were never so low. Politically they had never been so 
oppressed. He had been brutally exiled for working for 
the overthrow of imperialism and capitalism. But now 
men were shot for merely expressing disapproval with the 
Soviet government. 

“If this is liberty,” he said in conclusion, “if this 
is socialism, give me chains and capitalism!” 

Boris had hardly sat down amid thunders of applause 
when he noticed people in the back seats trying frantic- 
ally to push their way out of the hall. 

“ The tchaika (extraordinary commission) the tchaika !” 
some one shouted and instantly the meeting was thrown 
into confusion. Boris ran to a side entrance leading 
from the stage but found two commissioners armed with 
revolvers guarding it. Sofia was suddenly caught in the 


56 


Destruction of a Nation 


surge of struggling men and women and carried to the 
rear of the hall. She could see the officers arrest Boris, 
but was unable to make a move in his direction. 

All but one of the speakers, who escaped in the crowd, 
were arrested and thrown into the city jail. Early the 
next morning, after a sleepless night, Sofia trudged the 
three miles to the jail. Already some forty or fifty men 
and women were standing in line, on similar missions. 
Most of them carried little bundles of food, blankets, 
clothing, etc. Sofia had brought a warm coat, two towels, 
and a ration of bread. 

An hour later Sofia was allowed to talk to Boris through 
the bars of his cell. The attendant was good enough to 
allow Boris to keep all the gifts. Boris was still excited 
from last night’s event. He had been in prison before, 
he said, and was glad to be there again if he could serve 
Russia thereby. 

Sofia found the jail exactly as it had been when she 
was there before — only older and more filthy if possible 
Before she left she promised Boris to return that afternoon 
with some more provisions. 

She hurried home, selected the one evening gown that 
she had been allowed to keep, an ermine coat that she had 
not worn in four years and a rug and staggered under 
this load to the Sucharowka. She would sell her fine 
clothes and furnishings to provide food for her husband. 
It had begun to snow, the first snow of the year and her- 
ald of the terrible Russian winter. But Sofia was not 
thinking of its terror. She was thinking of its effect on 
the sale of the fur coat. She was dickering with a peasant 
who had brought a load of fowl to Moscow. He eyed 
the coat longingly. It would be a Christmas present for 
his wife. She had never had ermine before. Sofia became 
the veriest street peddler and tried to raise the price he 
at first offered, ruble by ruble. Finally she succeeded in 
disposing of not only the coat, but the dress and the rug, 
and turned to purchase food for Boris. There was enough 
money to feed both him and herself for two months. 

An old woman, haggard and bent and carrying a lace 


Destruction of a Nation 57 

handkerchief drew near. She was thinly dressed and her 
stockings showed through holes in her slippers. 

“Buy this handkerchief, real Irish lace, once the prop-- 
erty of a princess, bring you good luck,” the woman 
chanted. 

Sofia did not notice that already the crowd had begun 
to melt away, as she turned to watch the old woman. 

“It’s Auntie!” she gasped. 

The woman did not recognize her, but repeated the 
chant. She bad been brought by bitter want to sell her 
treasurers one by one. Now only a few lace handker- 
chiefs remained. 

Sofia felt a rough hand on her shoulder and turned to 
see a commissar standing before her. She turned pale. 
The money she still held in her hands. The commissar 
snatched it, shoved it into his coat pocket and ordered 
her to come with him. 

“But you don’t understand,” cried Sofia frantically. 
“It’s not for myself. It’s for Boris. My husband. He 
is starving. Tt is to save his life. Oh God, have mercy!” 

She threw herself in the snow at his feet. 

“Get up, you bourgeoisie,” he hissed. “Buy and sell 
and undermine the Soviet government? Get up there.” 

He summoned another official and together they 
dragged her through the snow for a hundred feet. 
Thoroughly cowed, Sofia consented to rise and accom- 
pany them. 

A man who had been a baker three years ago listened 
impatiently to Sofia’s story for a few minutes, took one 
half of the money that had been confiscated, allowed the 
commissioner to keep the other half and sentenced the 
defendant to thirty days of hard labor. He might have 
imposed the death penalty, he announced with a sneer, but 
it gave him more satisfaction to see a bourgeoisie at work. 

Sofia was not allowed to see Boris. She wondered 
what he would think of her failure to appear as she had 
promised. She tapped out a message which she hoped 
would reach the men’s side of the jail, but received no 
/ answer. Boris has been taken to the prison ? she won- 
dered. 


58 


Destruction of a Nation 


Early each morning Sofia, in threadbare clothes, was 
sent to shovel snow off sidewalks — work which soon raised 
painful blisters on her delicate hands and taxed her 
strength to the utmost. She was one of a gang of pris- 
oners whom two soldiers, armed with rifles, kept guard. 

Sofia paused from her work of cleaning snow in front 
of the Metropol hotel one morning. It was recess — the 
five minute period of relaxation allowed every hour. On 
the step of the hotel she noticed a copy of Izvetia, the 
leading Moscow newspaper. She picked it up greedily, 
for no one was allowed to read in jail. For a few mom- 
ents she scanned the columns. 

“Hey, there, what do you mean by sitting down there 
on the step,” shouted one of the guards suddenly, running 
toward her. He shook her shoulder roughly and her 
head fell forward. “What do you — come quick, Gregory, 
something’s wrong. 

Sofia had fainted. On the snow before her, one might 
have read on the front page of the Izvetsia in the list of 
those shot the preceding day by order of the extraordinary 
commission the name of Boris Nelidoff. 


Destruction of a Nation 


59 


CHAPTER III 

Sofia was home again. How empty the apartment 
seemed, in spite of the scavengers, who now kept quietly 
to their rooms or walked about the house on tiptoe. Sofia 
was looking at a photograph of Boris. It did not re- 
semble him as she had seen him last. The picture had 
been taken before the revolution. Sofia thought of the 
things she had lost — wealth, position and now — love. 

“And for what?” she asked herself. The idealism for 
which Boris had given up everything had not come, per- 
haps would never come. Outside she heard cheering. It 
was a procession in honor of the Third International — 
the congress of working men of the world. The delegates 
had just feasted in one of the palaces of the Kremlin and 
were now being honored by the procession. It’s purpose 
was to show to the world the popularity of the Soviet 
government. The delegates could not know, of course, 
that those men who marched were getting an extra ration 
for it and that the children who sang the Socialistic songs 
in their piping voices had been compelled to do so under 
penalty of expulsion from school. 

Through the window Sofia saw a shower of leaflets 
fall upon the crowd. It was propaganda being tossed 
through the air from airplanes. She watched the planes 
flying like huge, glorious birds in the air. They dipped 
and turned and rose again, — symbols of freedom in a land 
of oppression. 

Sofia suddenly sprang up. She remembered that 
Worobieff, an old friend of her school days, was an 
aviator. She threw a scarf about her, hurriedly donned 
her hat and ran into the street. 

Worobieff was happy to see her and listened to her plan. 

“I too have been thinking of leaving Russia,” he said. 
“But I had not the courage to do it alone.” 

He spoke of the mechanical difficulties of the trip. 
With the best of luck they could perhaps cross the border 
undetected. Then by landing at night in fields near 


6o 


Destruction of a Nation 


cities and leaving before dawn they might be able to 
reach Esthonia, Germany, and France. 

“If we once reach France it will be a simple matter to 
reach America.” 

He advised waiting until spring. It was now Novem- 
ber and foolhardy to attempt flight. Sofia admitted it but 
declared vehemently that it was more foolhardy to face 
another winter in Soviet Russia. It was worse than that. 
It was death — moral, if not physical. 

Worobieff agreed with misgivings. He was no coward 
and freedom was worth this chance. 

They made their preparations secretly, saving food out 
of their meager rations, fashioning warm clothing and 
procuring gasoline. They started a week later on a 
beautifully calm day which Sofia declared had been sent 
by heaven for their benefit. There followed whirling 
flights through freezing air which threatened to leave 
Sofia paralyzed with cold ; nightly expeditions to towns 
for gasoline by Worobieff while Sofia guarded the airplane 
in some field ; fights with storms that threatened to wreck 
the frail craft; two days of no food and but a drop of 
water. 

Six weeks after they left Moscow they stood on the 
deck of an ocean greyhound, watching the sun slowly 
rise out of the misty ocean. Before them suddenly loomed 
a tremendous form, slowly emerging from shadow, one 
arm extended out to them bearing the torch which they 
had sought. It was the Statue of Liberty. 

Sofia and Worobieff fell on their knees before it. 
Their eyes were wet with tears. 

“I have found the land of liberty,” said Sofia quietly. 
“My adopted land will be my real fatherland.” 




































































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